


It Takes a Graveyard

by r_lee



Category: Graveyard Book - Gaiman
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-22
Updated: 2009-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-05 01:13:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/36141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/r_lee/pseuds/r_lee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's just the first night of what could prove to be many, but the Caretaker is more than up to the task.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Takes a Graveyard

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sophie (sophistry)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophistry/gifts).



> Giant thanks to Viv &amp; Hannah for beta-reading!

_The man Jack was tall. This man was taller. The man Jack wore dark clothes. This man's clothes were darker. People who noticed the man Jack when he was about his business -- and he did not like to be noticed -- were troubled, or made uncomfortable, or found themselves unaccountably scared. The man Jack looked up at the stranger, and it was the man Jack who was troubled._   


\--Neil Gaiman, _The Graveyard Book_

***

Silas looked up into the night, the keys to the gate silent as death in his pocket. Already, there was a discussion underway between the Owens family (kindhearted and somewhat foolish) and Josiah Worthington (pompous) and Caius Pompeius (imperious) and Mother Slaughter (ever practical). He didn't particularly wish to be involved in this conversation, but the darkness propelled him forward like a pair of gloved hands. Never into the center of the circle but to the side, where he wished to stay; from here he could put forth his opinion but stay out of the bulk of things. As the one who could actually leave he knew his words carried weight.

There were so many times when he wished they simply didn't. But wishes and dreams were things he had learned to absorb back into himself like water seeping into parched earth. What he did -- what everyone in the graveyard _did_ \-- was _survive._ Dead, yes, at least most of them, but they were still the people they'd been in life. They were still Mr. and Mistress Owens, arguing to give the baby the Freedom of the Graveyard, and Josiah Worthington, Baronet, ordering people around in the afterlife as he had in the original one, and Mother Slaughter arguing against the Owens family suggestion, and Caius Pompeius trying to bring things to order.

Arguments were such droll human affairs; he stepped out of the shadows and offered, much to his own consternation, to be the child's guardian. To see to his care and feeding and education; to see to it that he would be looked after and disrupt the graveyard as little as possible. Already, he had ideas as to what this would entail and what it would bring, but he found that he didn't mind the concept or concepts. A dead place is a dead place with its patterns and rituals, but add a living being to it and the place would change.

It certainly couldn't change for the _worse._

***

It was a long time since he'd last tasted human food and yes, he'd been human once. He'd moved in the light, to the ever-changing beat of humanity, to the hum and dance people did and do on an everyday basis. Now he no longer saw the sun but paid his own tribute to the moon and stars, staying close or wandering far. The graveyard was a fine place for him to settle and he'd been there for so many years he'd lost count, not that he had a grave there. No, he'd taken up residence in the crypt and its dankness suited him. From there he could read or study or sleep away the daylight hours, watch the foxes and the owls and the spirits at night. With the freedom to move about the graveyard and beyond, he could keep an eye on the comings and goings of those nighttime human denizens: thieves, graverobbers, treasure-seekers, small-time troublemakers, those intent on vandalizing the one-time graveyard, now a nature preserve. Many tried but few succeeded. The caretaker's permission was needed to obtain access after hours, and he was a very _good_ caretaker indeed.

He held not only the grudging respect of most of the graveyard's residents but also their obeisance. Tradition and honor demanded it but those things simply went with the territory as far as he was concerned. He hadn't always been that type of person but his days of being classified as a living person were long since behind him. When he _had_ been human, the concerns of infants or children had never been the types of things to occupy his attention and that meant that now, since he'd made the offer, it was his responsibility to not only find adequate sustenance but to see to it that the child they'd named Nobody would thrive and survive. It was only because of this that he ventured into the artificial brightness of the late-night market and the child food aisle. Nobody wasn't a baby or he wouldn't have been able to make it as far as the graveyard, but he was still young, still small enough to be held and comforted. At least he could get ideas from the small jars of comestibles lining the shelves. Apparently things like bananas and peaches and pears would be acceptable, and green beans, broccoli, and carrots. Of course, he would need more than fruits and vegetables; in order to grow strong Nobody would also need to eat beef and turkey and chicken. In this section of the market the scents weren't quite as overwhelming as they were where the produce was fresh, but he was going to have to brave those sections as well if he wanted to feed the child.

"Excuse me." He drew near to a woman covered in dark garb that hid all but her face; in her arms a baby slept. "I'm in need of help. What does one feed a..." His eyes moved to the labels on the jars. Stage One, Stage Two, Toddler: thankfully there were illustrations of a tiny baby, a crawling baby, and a walking baby. "...toddler?" The question, odd as it was, would be over soon and when it was done all the woman would remember would be shopping for her own child, the sounds of the other humans low and steady in the background. "It's so difficult to know when one's going to watch a child for a friend."

The woman smiled a sympathetic and motherly smile and while she never reached out to pat his hand in an all-too-human _that's all right, my dear_ gesture, the motion was there nevertheless in her smile. "A little one? They love their fruits and cereals. You'll want these oat circles, love. The little ones can swallow them and not choke, because of the hole in the middle. And don't forget their bananas and berries." Taking mental note -- he rarely if ever forgot anything -- his list began to take shape.

"What a help you've been." There was nothing welcoming in Silas's voice, but there was nothing off-putting either. "There's no need for you to remember this conversation or to relate it to anybody else, but I thank you for it all the same." Folding himself into the relative darkness of the aisle's corner, he watched as the woman hummed, kissed her child on the forehead, and moved off with her goods. This whole shopping business was going to take some getting used to, but even in life he'd never been one to go back on his word. Besides, he was used to taking care of others, to protecting secrets. He _was_ a member of the Guard, after all, and no simple human invention like grocery shopping could best _him._

***

Silas still had no recollection or earthly idea what a banana tasted like, but it seemed to have appeased the boy Nobody. When the Lady on the Grey rode in, he knew it without having to see her. When Mr. Owens and Mother Slaughter and Josiah Worthington arrived at the crypt, he knew what the answer would be even before the news was broken.

Some decisions were simply right, and this was no exception. Of all the things he'd lost since he'd become a resident of the graveyard, his sense of compassion -- hidden though it could often be -- was certainly not one of them. When the Owens family returned to their tomb, little Nobody happy and tired in the arms of Mistress Owens, he nodded before turning his face to the darkened sky. This night still held one task for him, but he would carry it out alone and would talk to no living person as he did so.

The walk back from the tall house on the hill was not a pleasant one, but he was grimly satisfied. The decision made had been the right one for so many more reasons than those involved knew. If it meant more work for him, so be it: he knew what it meant to be honor-bound and the concept didn't frighten him in the least although he was sure that before long, he'd be relying on his old dear friend Miss Lupescu for help. And that concept didn't frighten him either.

Few things did.


End file.
